Woah, bonus chapter? These are supposed to basically be little snapshots that tie in with the main plot but don't affect it directly, or just a way to write about some of the minor characters! 

Hope you enjoy reading~ 

- Missing You -

Exactly one day, nine hours and twenty-two minutes into half term, he cracked and called Caitlin.

"Hey," she murmured, when she picked up the phone. Her house always sounded quiet when he called, unlike his: his cousins were round, playing cards downstairs with Drake on loudly in the background. Normally he'd have joined in with their raucous chatter and laughter, but he felt weird and distant, so after greeting them as was customary he'd made a weak excuse about having homework to do and, with difficulty, made his way back to his room. "What's up?"

"Nothing much," he said. "I think all my cousins came round at the same time, completely unannounced, like always."

"Wow, all of them? Did they sign your cast?"

"No space," Ezra told her. "They signed a piece of paper and stuck it on the fridge, though, so they didn't miss out."

Caitlin laughed softly.

"What're you doing?" he asked her, like he always did. He liked envisioning her as he talked; it made her seem closer, somehow.

"Nothing much," she said. "I was reading for Classics, but I must have dozed off. You woke me up when you called."

He could see it now, her small frame curled up slightly on her double bed in the dim lamp-light, her elegant features lit up, soft and warm from the light. The book was open beside her, unread as she slept lightly, shallow, even breaths making her chest lift and fall gently, the movement detaching a lock of hair so it swung down, resting against her cheek.

His hand twitched slightly with the impulse to brush the hair away from her face, and then he remembered he was in his room and she was in hers, on her own, not with him. For a second it hurt. He missed her already. It was terrible; whenever he was away from her she was all he could think about. And when he was with her...well, it was pretty much the same.

"I miss you," he blurted out, his mouth mindlessly repeating his thoughts.

He could hear the smile in her voice. "It hasn't even been two days," she said.

"48 hours," he said, "that's a lot of hours. What have you been doing lately? Anything crazy?"

"I was gonna dig out the microphone and do some recording tomorrow," Caitlin said. "Esther sent me some sheet music the other day. Looks pretty good."

"Tomorrow? Can I come round?"

"You want to come round?" she repeated.

"I want to see you."

"If you want, sure. I mean, it'll just be you listening to me singing all day..."

Ezra grinned. "That's actually alright."

"You need a life, Ezra."

"I don't need a life. I've got you."

Caitlin laughed again, her voice low and breathless. "Alright, come over. Bring some lemonade with you, though. We're all out of lemonade."

Caitlin's mother knew Ezra well by now and waved at him cheerfully as he pushed open the gate to their house and manoeuvred himself and his crutches awkwardly through the small gap.

"Oh, you bought lemonade," she said, noting the bag in his hand. She was standing on a stepladder, fixing the hanging basket which had, up until two weeks ago, lived up to its name and hung faithfully next to the door, carrying a colourful batch of crocuses until it had unexpectedly dropped off the wall as Ezra was leaving the house one evening. She was short, like Caitlin: Ezra was taller than everyone in her family. Short genes ran in the De Luca family, apparently. "You're a saint, Ezra."

He put the lemonade in the fridge for them, poured two glasses and took them across to Caitlin's room, glad her room was on the ground floor. Just getting through the gate was enough effort for him. He listened first, to check if she was recording, and when he didn't hear anything gently pushed it open.

"Hey," Caitlin greeted him. She was on her back underneath her desk, fiddling with some wires. "Help me get this."

He helped her set up the microphone and then sat on her bed, leafing through the sheet music while she played around with her macbook, setting up the software.

"Which one do you want to record first?"

"Hmm..." Caitlin said, mulling it over. "Surprise me."

He picked the one called Red Kite House, wondering how Esther chose the names for her songs. He was excited about this: he always found himself marvelling at Esther's talent with the music she wrote, and he'd never had the opportunity to listen to her songs before the night. He was always interested in the works-in-progress, the not quite yet finished products. He felt they were a startling indicator of the thoughts and processes that went into creating.

Caitlin's voice, low and soothing, then gradually swelling with intensity, sent shivers shooting up his spine, a thrill running across him. He watched her, leaning in close to the microphone, her eyes closed and her voice rising high, soaring at the top of her range, soft and light and feathery like a single thread of golden light, bright and clear in the dark, and felt sick with awe, captivated by the tone and timbre of her gentle vocalisations.

There was something about her voice that caught him and held him there, stuck in a trance until it was just him and her and nothing else: no walls, no floor, no hammering downstairs as her mother re-attached the hanging basket; just the two of them caught up together in the music, hanging in some formless, beautiful space until she stopped singing and let them flutter down like feathers, softly, giddily back towards the ground.

He always felt closest to her like this. When he listened to her sing, he felt connected to her, like they were thinking and breathing and feeling at the same time: the arcing melodies and soft trace of her voice mixing with him, blurring his consciousness into hers. The first time he heard her sing it had scared him, that sudden intimacy, but once she'd finished it had left him reeling, breathless, desperate for more, like she was air and he was gasping for it.

And the more time he spent with her, the more he loved her: the soft way she spoke, the gentle way she smiled, her wry laughter and genuine honesty and everything about her. As Caitlin's voice tapered off into silence he couldn't help feeling a familiar rush of affection, so strong it took him by surprise.

"You ok?" she asked him, and he snapped out of it and grinned at her.

"Never felt better. That was incredible."

She smiled at him. "You always say that."

He liked that she didn't mind him sitting in his room, just listening to her sing. He'd asked her once if she thought it was weird, and she'd laughed and told him that it helped her relax in a way. Tricked her into thinking she had an audience. He'd been surprised when he first met her, because with her tiny frame and general quietness, he'd assumed she would be shy and nervous in front of people. Then she'd stepped on stage to audition, and he'd realised he'd been completely wrong.

"Sure you're not bored like this?" she asked, after some time.

"Honestly, it's fine. I like this."

"I do, too," she said, simply. "It's nice to have you around."

She did a couple more recordings, and Ezra pulled a book off her shelf and flicked through it, paying only minimal attention to the text.

"I'm interested to see what Esther's going to do with these," Caitlin remarked, when she'd finished. "She's never done melodic pieces before."

He came over to the computer. She shuffled slightly and then leaned her head against his shoulder, reaching out for the lemonade on the table. It was warm now, and still, and she made a face and set it down again. "Never mind..."

"It's okay," Ezra told her. "I'll get you some water instead."

"Hm," she said, frowning. "Water..."

"You know, in some places water is considered to be an essential dietary requirement," Ezra said, grinning.

"There's water in lemonade," Caitlin replied.

His fingers strayed, tracing the edge of her hair and then – finally – brushing it gently away from her face. They were close now – so close – and all Ezra could think of doing was leaning in, bridging that minute gap between them and letting his lips brush against hers, but he didn't. This was the best and the worst part of being with her: that thrill of being with her, but constantly having to hold back like this. Caitlin was lucky; she never felt like this. Her life must be so easy, uncomplicated.

Caitlin seemed to sense it, too, because she turned to look at him, her eyes holding his for the longest second before she spoke.

"Might as well practise, seeing as you're here now," she said, slipping out of his arms. "Let me get my guitar."